


you burn me,

by RATTLEBONES



Category: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: M/M, Non-Chronological, Stream of Consciousness, after amsterdam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 20:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14340183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RATTLEBONES/pseuds/RATTLEBONES
Summary: They were two planets in each other's orbit.





	you burn me,

**Author's Note:**

> with the goldfinch (2019) in production, i decided to join the hype train.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](http://vodkaboris.tumblr.com/)

There was an emptiness in the air after he left. It was an abrupt departure, baggage hoisted clumsily into the back of the cab, tousled hair and teary eyes, the driver blowing smoke circles in the early morning air. Theo was a jittery mess, pulling at his shirt now and then, nicotine-stained fingers scratching at his red nose thinking I wouldn’t notice.

“What will you do now?” I inquired. Theo had left Kitsey on the evening of their engagement party, a remarkably cold move even by my standards. He turned around at my question, his bag with the wads of cash gripped so tightly in his hands that the knuckles pulled away white.

“Think I’ve got a thing or two to sort out with Hobie, I don’t dare to imagine how he will react at all of this,” glancing at the bag. His gaze gave off a completely different aura, it was an echo of his dazed self when we were in the apartment watching cooking shows, scraping away at the powdery remains on the mirror, licking it off our fingertips. Dutch chatter in the background, a mixture of words I could understand and ones that had a Scandinavian ring. His anxious mind subdued by the drugs, cheeks warm from laughing. The night slipped away from consciousness, sounds and movement blurred into each other, inseparable. Here and now there was no trace of it.

As I moved him into his seat: _will check up on you from time to time_ , _bye potter, take care_ , he waved me farewell and the cab sped away. I stood there as the taillights receded from my vision, and even until long after. His departure was a band-aid ripped off prematurely, revealing the sore and sensitive skin underneath. The streetlights gave off a desolate glow, my hands went up to touch my eyes and they came away damp.

This is the thing. There was no way Theo would have stayed in Antwerp regardless of how much I would have wanted him to. No reason why he should. He has a cozy rich family, convenient fiancée waiting for him to come home, not a worry in life. It was undeniably the better choice. Then, he was in front of me again, his eyes all doom and gloom. _Potter_ , all smiles, him leaning inwards, intoxicated limbs shaking terribly as I tried to get him to lie down. Burnt up skin pressed against each other, once again no words were said. TV stuttering in the background, the stiff mattress in my apartment giving way to both of us. My fingers dug into the familiar dip of his collarbone, across time and space, I found us right there and then in the desert, hot air kissing our skin as we tugged at each other desperately.

 

The world was awakening from its slumber when I found myself lying on the cold mattress. I glanced at the empty bottles of liquor on the windowsill, refracted light bouncing off the walls, kaleidoscope patterns at the edge of my sight. _Don’t be stupid, don’t want you to be cold no?_ I murmured as Theo tried to shake the sheets off from him. His delirious laughs fading from memory already. _D’you think they’d notice if I popped a few pills before takeoff?_ We had joked around for the rest of the night, vision drifting in and out of focus. I reached out and caressed his face with my hands, tracing his eyes, cheekbones, lips, retracing them over and over again. Making up for all the times I had wanted to reach out to him that same way, fearing he’d crumble at my touch. I had always felt guilty for corrupting him the way I did.

In retrospect, I could have made contact with him much earlier after he left Vegas. All it would have taken was punching in the numbers to a few New York colleges, _hello do you happen to have someone by the name of Theodore Decker in your register?_ I could have told him about the painting, I could have asked him about how he was doing, I could have made use of any excuse just to hear his voice again. Instead, the years were spent trying to preserve his face in my memory. Over time it got harder, and I found myself clinging to the remaining details from the rubble of my mind until nothing but the raw knowledge of his existence remained. _Good luck, I won’t forget you._

My arm was torturing me and the pain forced me to get up. The room was spinning rapidly with me shuffling down the narrow hallway, barren walls, stained yellow. My throat was dry as paper. Theo’s confession in the back of my head. _I tried to kill myself in that hotel y’know_ he slurred, followed by a weak chuckle. My breath had hitched in my throat. While I was digging for words, wanting to say something in reassurance but realizing I couldn’t, an inconsolable silence followed and we drifted from the world.


End file.
